by Amiee Smith
“Are you having Island Sweet Skunk?”
“Yes. I geeked out one night to a YouTube video on trichomes. This guy out of Denver believes smell is the key to understanding the effects of cannabis. Your strain smells similar to some of the strains I use. I thought I’d give his theory a try.”
“The Island Sweet Skunk never disappoints.”
Nick fills the first clear balloon-like bag with cannabis vapors. I search the cabinets for a glass.
“Glasses?” I ask.
“For?”
“Water. I like to have it while I vape.”
“Next to the microwave. There is a filtered water dispenser inside the fridge,” he says.
The built-in microwave is above a set of double ovens. I locate a set of slender glasses, but I have to stand on my tip-toes to reach one.
“You designed this kitchen for giants.”
“Sorry, I usually date—” he stops midsentence.
“Taller women.”
My inner fat girl adds “thinner” to the statement, but I push the thought from my mind. A.) I don’t want to think about Nick with other women. Not tonight. B.) Comparing myself to anyone is a form of self-inflicted torture and will ruin my impending high.
“How did you know I designed the kitchen?” Nick asks.
“It’s you in every way. Clean lines. Stunning. Expensive. Particular. With the right amount of luxury to make it seem untouchable. It could be featured in a magazine,” I say.
“Thank you, Lynn. Really. I spent two years planning it before I actually began the work.”
I open the refrigerator in search of the water dispenser and see my favorite green juice on the second shelf.
“You’re into green juice too?” I ask, gleefully.
Maybe he’ll share some with me later.
“Actually, it’s for you. You mentioned it in your Facebook Live.”
Oh, Holy Unicorn. So sweet. Even if it borders on presumptuous.
“You assumed I’d come back to your place?” I tease.
“Hoped. Not assumed. I wanted to be prepared. Especially since I’m not on a strict plant-based diet,” he states matter-of-factly.
“I appreciate your foresight. I will definitely enjoy it later.”
I’ve never had a man be so thoughtful.
Nick finishes filling the second bag and we move into the living room. I slip out of my flip-flops and sit crisscross applesauce on the modern leather charcoal sectional. Nick sits one cushion over.
“Press the mouthpiece to your lips to release the vapors,” he instructs.
I take my first draw. The vapes are flavorful. Clean.
“I can really taste the citrus. It’s remarkable,” I say before taking another hit from the bag.
“Definitely. I didn’t know weed had so much flavor until I started vaping. Joints and pipes get so hot it destroys the taste,” Nick says.
“My Pax is not as flavorful as this. This is a treat… and a little nerdy,” I tease.
“I’m a cannabis nerd. I had to do so much research when I became a patient, it happened by default.”
“Same for me. After receiving my medical recommendation, I was so cautious. I researched every strain and product on Leafly before I bought it. I’m more easy-going now, but I still only use what is highly reviewed,” I share.
“That’s why I bought the Volcano. I tried an aftermarket vaporizer, but it was inconsistent. I decided to buy the best.”
As he talks, the familiar euphoric-happy-uplifted sensation I associate with getting stoned rushes over me.
“This is really nice,” Nick says in unison with my thoughts.
I take several more draws from the bag before it’s fully deflated. Nick also finishes his bag and we chill in silence. This is usually when I sit at the computer. Since I can’t write, I reach for my purse on the table behind the sofa and pull out a piece of paper from the side pocket. Nick arches a thick, dark eyebrow.
“Bored of me already?”
“No. A blogger sent me these questions. I planned to work on them on the plane, but ended up reading. I thought I’d ask them of you. It can be a little game. I mean, if you want.”
“I don’t know much about writing,” Nick says.
“They’re mostly lifestyle questions.”
“Okay. I’m down. Should we have a backing track for our game?”
“Oh. Yes. What are you thinking?”
“I’m good with KCRW.”
“Yes, please.”
He retrieves his phone from the kitchen. Returning to the sofa, he clicks and scrolls before Stevie Wonder’s “I Wish” encases my body in a tube of sound.
“This is sick, Nick. The music is spiraling around me.”
“What do you mean?”
He smiles a self-satisfied grin. Nick designed this listening experience to have this effect. I’ve been in his home for less than thirty minutes, and I already know there isn’t a single aspect of this place that is accidental. His attention to detail is everywhere; creating a fully-curated experience. The house, anyway. The neighborhood doesn’t seem like him.
“Why did you choose to live in Mount Washington?”
“I inherited the house from my aunt, my mom’s older sister. She was an opera singer in Italy and immigrated to L.A. in the seventies. Bought this house. Sang on movie soundtracks for the rest of her life.”
“You must have been close to her?”
“We were. I spent a lot of time here. She didn’t marry or have kids, so she left her entire estate to my brother and me. The cash and royalties were split between us, but she specifically left the house to me.”
“How did your brother take that?”
“Fine. I think. He would never live in this neighborhood. The house hadn’t been updated, so I think he was happy to not have to deal with it. Plus, I agreed to be one of his early clients for his business.”
“Alex, right? He was three grades below us?”
“Yeah. Growing up, I felt like I crashed his party. I went to the Olympics his senior year of high school. I feel it’s my fault he struggled to find his way when he was younger.”
“He turned it around. Didn’t he make L.A. Magazine’s ‘Entrepreneurs to Watch’ list?”
“Yeah. He’s a whiz when it comes to finance and investing. I owe it to him for taking my inheritance and endorsements money and making me wealthier than most my age and in my position. In the last seven years, his wealth management business went from two clients to more than a hundred. My dad gave him so much shit when he finished at USC and started his own thing instead of working in the business. My dad cut off all financial support, but Alex made it work. I wish I were as courageous.”
A distant glare haunts his face. My charming, confident Nick has left the party. Vulnerability radiates off him. With every great superstar, there is a dense center.
His signature smile returns.
“Enough with the heavy talk. What’s up with these questions?”
As if on cue, the music changes to a low-key ska groove.
“What three things do you do for yourself every day?” I ask, reading from the list.
“Let me think. You go first, but tell me stuff I don’t know. I know you write, get stoned, and eat copious amounts of plants.”
“Lately, I feel like all I do is write and eat plants.”
“Come on, Scott. Be creative,” he pokes.
“Alright. I force myself to clean or organize for fifteen minutes every day. If things aren’t in order, I can get really scattered. It’s not in my nature to be on top of things, but a 15-minute clean helps. I spend time every day planning my weekends. I usually have them scheduled four weeks in advance. Partly because I come to L.A. every four weeks or so, and partly because it gives me something to look forward to after sitting in front of the computer for hours. And lastly, I make a lot of lists. It’s comforting to see what I need to do. Okay, Superstar. Your turn. Keep in mind, I already know you swim most days, get high on
dank indica-leaning herb, read, and cook.”
“How do you know I cook?”
“The chef-grade appliances. I spied a Le Creuset Dutch Oven in the cabinet. I know from reading lots of vegan food blogs this year that it’s serious home-cookware. The butcher block on your countertop is filled with only three knifes, which implies you play favorites with your cutlery. Also, you have a whole chicken in the refrigerator, which means you plan to cook it within the next day or so. Am I right?”
“You’re correct. I do consider myself a home-cook. I’m stoned enough to admit I sometimes pretend I’m on ‘Food Network Star.’ Refill?”
Nick winks at me as he picks up our bags from the coffee table and heads into the kitchen.
Goddess, he’s so hot.
CHAPTER 10:
NICK WILLINGHAM
I open the jar of OG Kush. The earthy pine scent is a celebration to my soul.
“Okay… three things you do for yourself every day? And same terms… stuff people wouldn’t know about you,” Lynn says, joining me in the kitchen.
“Most people don’t know I cook, but you figured it out,” I say, grinding the weed.
“I’m a writer and we’re nosey MFs.”
Lynn slides into the corner barstool on the other side of the island. Her milk chocolate eyes, focused and relaxed. Her demeanor, less fidgety. In her chic floral blouse, she appears sweet and at ease. What I thought was shyness is really her observant nature. Lynn sees past my surface, which I didn’t realize I needed so much from a woman. I like having her here and hope she’s enjoying the date as much as I am.
“Are you having a good time?” I ask.
“Superstar, you’ve made this one of my best trips to L.A.”
My insides jump up and down. Yes, I’m high, but I truly feel as if I could fly.
“Okay, Lynn. Three things I do for myself. I shave every day, because if I don’t I’ll have a full beard in three days. Ah… what else… I clean my kitchen and make my bed every day. Dishes in the sink and an unmade bed makes me feel like I’m messing up at life. Especially since I’m an adult stoner. Last one… ah… I masturbate, and I usually have a pretty dirty fantasy to go with it.”
I peer up from the bowl I’m packing of her strain. Lynn seems unmoved by my last admission. While I’m being honest, I’m dangling the bait. Is there a little more freak underneath the lady?
“I would hope so, considering you’re the same man who had me reverse cowgirl in the back seat of his car.”
“A first for me,” I share.
“Really? It’s a first for me too.”
A quiet beat passes between us. Lynn licks her lips and stares into nowhere. I want her, but I’m going to wait for her to make the move. I need to know this is not all me. I need to know she’s into this relationship, three years in the making.
“What’s the next question?” I ask, handing a filled vape bag to her.
I empty the bowl and fill it with OG Kush. I enjoyed her strain, but it’s a little too energizing for this time of night.
Lynn reads from the paper in her hand, “What are three words that describe you? Again, let’s keep with the theme of something I wouldn’t know.”
“It seems obvious, but it’s who I am… I’m competitive. I like to win. As I get older, I’ve learned ways to compete without spending ten hours a day in the pool or being an asshole. With that said, I’m surprisingly patient. Being competitive means waiting for the right moment. Ah and… hedonistic. I only surround myself with what I deem pleasurable.”
I remove my filled bag from the Volcano. After one hit, my body is loose. I watch Lynn take draws while grooving and bouncing her head to the house music bleeding into the kitchen from the living room. I even rock my shoulders in time to the beat. Damn, I feel comfortable enough to dance around this woman in the bright lights of my kitchen.
The track changes to Russ’s “Losin Control” and Lynn wanders out of the kitchen and over to the dining room, peering out the window overlooking my backyard.
“Is that a fire pit down below?” she asks.
“Yeah. Wanna finish our bags out there? Check this out. We can turn it on from here.”
I walk over to her holding the tablet I use to run my house.
“Oh, Holy Unicorn. That’s awesome. How do we get down there?”
She’s a tech girl, her face lights up in the same way I do on the inside. Oh holy… what? I’m stoned, but I swear she said something about a unicorn.
“Let me give you a tour of the house.”
I take her hand, pointing out the laundry room just off the kitchen with a stairway leading to the yard below.
“We could take these stairs, but it’d cut the tour short,” I say.
I guide her around the street-level floor, showing her the guest bedroom and bath, and my master bedroom with en-suite bath. It’s open concept; with the living room in the middle, the kitchen and dining area on one side, and the bedrooms on the other. We go down the steep stairway leading to the study/office, half-bath, and gym.
“It must be fun to create in this room,” Lynn says as we enter the study.
Shelves line one wall. The other side is French doors and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out into the yard. A large, modern desk sits in the center of the room.
“When I planned the study, I thought I’d be working on designs and blueprints all the time. But I rarely come in here. This way.”
I lead her out back. The yard is filled with mature tangerine and lemon trees. The fire pit sits in the middle of a tiled patio surrounded by a large, gray, wicker outdoor sectional with thick, beige cushions.
“You’re a fan of sectionals,” Lynn says.
“Selecting furniture is not my favorite thing to do. Sectionals are easy.”
Lynn kicks off her shoes and sits cross-legged on one of the thick cushions.
“Oh, Nick. This sectional is more comfortable than most people’s beds.”
“Okay, Scott. Your turn. Three words to describe yourself. Surprise me,” I say before taking another draw from the bag.
“Shoot. I left my water glass upstairs.”
“I’ll go get it.”
I inhale the last bit of vapors and hustle up the stairs. My flip-flops are noisy against the hardwood floors. I’ve never been more excited to spend time with a woman. I grab Lynn’s water glass, a blanket and just in case, a condom, and return to the backyard.
I find Lynn on her back, gazing at the sky. The embers of the electric fire illuminate the yard. She’s petite, so there is plenty of room for me. I put the glass on the edge of the fire pit, and sit near her feet.
“I brought you this,” I say, draping the blanket on the back of the sectional.
“Thank you. You’ve gotta see this, Nick. I think I can see Orion through the clearing of the trees.”
“You can. I had five avocado trees removed so I could have that view. Do you know the name of the stars in Orion’s Belt?”
“No. Lie between my legs and show me. I swear I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. Point them out from there… if you want.”
“I’ll show you.”
I lean back against Lynn’s abdomen, my head resting below her breasts. Short legs and thighs embrace my torso. The subtle rising and falling of her breath underneath the sheer fabric of her blouse caresses the back of my neck.
There is no place I’d rather be than here.
“Nick, I feel the exact same way. Point out the stars.”
Shit. I said that out loud. It’s difficult to know what’s up and down. I’m stoned, and Lynn is distracting me with her fingertips, kneading away the soreness in my shoulder that has become a regular part of my life.
How does she know this is the injured arm?
“You favor your other side. I only noticed tonight.”
I’m doing the thinking-out-loud thing again. I will myself out of the foggy pleasure of Lynn’s massage to gain control of my thoughts.
“Three word
s to describe you, Lynn.”
“Um… I’m spiritual. I love crystals, psychics, mystical beings, rituals, meditation, and the cosmos, I believe in all of it. I’m a romantic. Even though I’ve never been in a real relationship, I believe in love and happily-ever-after. And… I’m a horny girl. I’ve got a dirty, smutty mind that could cause grown men to have to excuse themselves to the restroom.”
While I’m thrilled to know there is a freak in Lynn, I’m more surprised to learn she has never been in a relationship. I file this piece of information away in my mind to revisit when I’m out of the fog of my high.
“Okay, Willingham. Show me the stars.”
“Look for Orion’s Belt and mentally draw a line. To the north of Orion’s Belt is Betelgeuse, and on the opposite side is Rigel. Draw another line through Orion’s Belt as if you’re making an X. Across and up from Betelgeuse is the star, Aldebaran, in the constellation Taurus the Bull. Going in the opposite direction, Orion’s Belt points to Sirius, the brightest star in the nighttime sky. Do you see it?”
“Wait. No. Oh. Is it? No. Wait. That? Oh Goddess. I see the X. I never noticed it before. Nick, this is so brilliant. Let’s make a wish.”
The intense body high from the OG Kush is in full effect and my muscles relax into Lynn’s soft, receptive body.
I wish to never leave this spot.
“This is a good spot. Do you know what would make it better?”
What?
“If we were naked.”
I think Lynn says something about “naked.” Between the weed and her fingers massaging my shoulder, I’m struggling to stay on the right side of reality.
I wish I may. I wish I might.
“I wish you would fuck me, Nick Willingham.”
Lynn’s “fuck me” wakes me right up. I turn around, nestling between her thighs, and covering her petite frame with my bigger body. Lynn spreads even wider to receive me before hooking her legs on either side of mine. I rest my head in the crook of her neck and breathe in her lavender scent.
“Nick, let’s go upstairs.”
“Come on, Scott. Let’s make this memorable.”
“Out here?”
“Yes. Is that okay?”
“Oh, yes,” she says, her words ending in a quiet, breathy moan.
